The Past Brought Present
by Wiccagirl24
Summary: Sara and Griss are a couple, life is going well. But then a phone call from Maggie starts a series of events that forces Sara to face her past. WIP. Seqel to Sara's Little Sister
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: CSI is not mine. Billy and Gary are, however, in the other room as I speak. They are fighting over me,and want me to choose between the two of them. I can't make up my mind. Can't I have both?

Archive: All you have to do is ask.

Spoilers: Nesting dolls for sure, other eps maybe.

A/N: The character of Maggie from _Sara's Little Sister_ grabbed onto my heart and wouldn't let go. I had to visit her again. Warning, this story darker and more angsty then the first one. Set about six months later.

Also, I am the owner of a shiny new beta. Shout out to Sprogy! Thanks girl.

Prologue

She was huddled in the back of the closet, knees pulled up to her chin, trembling. Her mother had hurried her in there when the knock on the door had sounded, making her promise not to come out until she was called. She was still waiting for the summons. The closet was dark, though, and it had been such a long time. Every time she took a breath the walls seemed to move in a little more. She was more scared of the darkness that wrapped around her in the confined space then whatever was waiting outside. Stumbling as she stood up, she fell against the door. Her muscles were cramping from being held in one position for so long. Cautiously she turned the door knob and stepped into the hallway.

The house was silent. She crept from room to room, observing the ruin around her. Shards of broken dishes covered the kitchen floor. None of the sofa pillows were where they belonged. Two pictures had fallen off of the wall, and now lay on the floor, covered on glass slivers. Nervously she crept into her mother's room. The destruction was even worse in here. Suddenly she heard a low moan on the other side of the bed.

"Mommy?" She ran to the sound, but stopped when she finally found her mom. She was lying in the floor, grasping her left arm tightly to her chest. Her closed eyes were swollen, and blood dripped from her nose. She ran to the table next to the bed, where her mom kept the phone. She had learned all about 911 at school, but didn't know if they could help. She did know someone else though. Picking up the phone she carefully punched in seven numbers.

_Someone help me!_


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"Grissom, what did I tell you about putting your experiments in the fridge?" Sara rolled her eyes and directed the question at the man sitting on her couch. This was the third time he had tried to stick something in the back of her fridge without her noticing. Part of her was disgusted with the weird looking substance lurking in her fridge. Secretly, though, she reveled in the fact that he felt comfortable enough in her apartment to bring things over. A toothbrush on her counter would have been preferable, though.

"I don't remember," Grissom responded, looking up from the journal he was reading. "I do believe it was something about pain and torture." At that moment the phone rang. Grissom was closest, so he reached for it. "Sidle residence."

"Mr. Grissom?" The voice on the other end was that of a child. Only one person it could be.

"Hi, Cricket." Sara looked up at the use of the nickname. Grissom had given it to Maggie the first day they met, and rarely called her anything else.

"Mr. Grissom, I need help."

The words registered before her tone did. For just a second, thoughts of homework assistance or a ride to a friend's house crossed his mind. Then he realized that she was crying.

"Cricket, what's wrong?" He was worried now. Never in all the time had he known her had he heard Maggie cry.

"Gil?" Sara stepped out of the kitchen when she heard the worried note in his voice. Six months of dating, and she still called him Grissom most of the time. It was proof of her concern that his first name had come out. 'Gil' had become something akin to an endearment, used only during her more playful or romantic moods.

Grissom's eyes met hers as he spoke gently into the phone.

"What do you need help with?"

"Mommy's hurt. She won't get up. There was a bad man here, and she made me hide in the closet, but I was scared."

_Oh, God_, Grissom thought

"Cricket, I want you to listen to me carefully." He slowly enunciated each word, wanting to make sure the frightened child understood him. "Are you at your house?"

"Yes," was the meek response.

"Besides your mom, are you alone?"

Another affirmative.

"One more question, Cricket. Do you remember Sara's cell phone number?"

"No, but mommy wrote it next to the fridge."

"Okay Maggie. Your doing good. I'm proud of you." He tried to soothe her with his words, only imagining how terrified the eight year old was.

"I want you to hang up the phone, then dial Sara's cell. Can you do that?"

"Yeah."

"Do that now and Sara will talk to you while I drive to your house. We'll be there as quick as we can."

Sara was already reaching for her phone as Grissom spoke, ready to answer it the moment it rang.

"Will you turn on the sirens?" Maggie asked.

Grissom was relieved to hear a glimmer of interest in her voice.

"The sirens and the flashing lights," he promised. Even as he heard Sara's phone ringing, Grissom was reaching for his car keys and his own cell phone. Walking out the door with Sara behind him, he started to dial Jim Brass's number. From Maggie's call it sounded like they were going to need the police and he wanted someone he knew. True, Brass was a homicide captain and this wasn't strictly part of his job. Unless Maggie's mother was dead. _Please don't let her be dead._

"Brass, its Grissom. I need you to meet me at a possible crime scene."

Lights flashing and sirens blaring, as promised, it took fifteen minutes to reach Maggie's house. Normally, it took twenty five. Sara spoke into the phone the entire time. At first she tried to whisper comforting words to calm the girl down, but to no avail. Now she was talking to random nonsense, and found that worked better. Favorite books from when she was little, the one and only time she went camping, the time the three of them had gone to the theater. Sara spoke of whatever came to mind.

When they arrived at Maggie's house, they were greeted by a wide open front door and a room that shouted 'crime scene.'

"Maggie, we're here. Don't be scared when you hear noise in the hallway. It's me and Griss. I'm hanging up the phone now." Sara headed straight for the master bedroom, scanning the house as she went.

"Maggie?" she questioned as she stepped into the seemingly empty room.

"Sara!" Maggie appeared from behind the bed and flung herself into Sara, nearly causing her to fall.

Sara held on tight to the little girl, hugging her before pulling away. With trained eyes she studied Maggie, making sure that she was really uninjured. Other then the tear tracks on her cheeks and the haunted look in her eyes, she appeared to be unscathed, physically. A moan sounded on the other side of the room, and Sara remembered that Maggie wasn't alone in the room. Releasing the girl, Sara walked towards the sound.

Debra O'Shannon was curled up on the floor. Dried blood crusted on her cheek. One eye was swollen and turning purple. The arm resting on the floor was lying at on odd angle, obviously broken. Sara took in the sight, complete with the auburn hair partially hiding Debra's face and the bruises starting to make there way known. Suddenly she was ten years old again, looking at her mother. How many times had she witnessed this scene ate home? How often in her childhood, those thirteen years before her mother broke down and grabbed the knife? She blinked once, and it was Debra on the ground, not Laura Sidle.

"Damn it." Grissom was behind her, surveying the scene. It was all too familiar, yet somehow not. This time it was personal, and he couldn't deny it.

Sara hadn't heard him enter the room.

"We need an ambulance, Griss. She's going to need to go to the hospital."

"It's already on the way. Brass too."

His words seemed to awaken her and spur her to action. Sara bent over the wounded woman, to closer examine her injuries.

"Maggie. Where's Maggie?" Debra's voice was barely a whisper.

"Shh. It's alright. We have her. She's not hurt."

"Who?" she questioned, unable to place the voice.

"It's me. Sara Sidle. Grissom is with me. Maggie called us."

"I need..." Debra grimaced, unable to finish the sentence through the pain.

"You only need to lay still. The paramedics will be here soon."

"Maggie..."

"Maggie will be okay. I'll take her to my place tonight. You don't have to worry. We'll take care of her, and then we'll find whoever did this to you." Debra didn't hear the angry tone in Sara's voice when she made her promise. Once she knew her daughter was safe, she gave in to the darkness that was beckoning her and passed out.

"Sara, why don't you go pack an overnight bag for Maggie?" Grissom had recognized that tight lipped, eyebrow furrowed expression she wore as she spoke of promises. He wanted to give Sara a moment to collect herself.

"Yeah." She left the room, Maggie clinging to her hand as if it was a life line.

Just then a familiar voice called from the front hall. "Grissom, you here?" Brass inquired.

"Be right there," Gil responded.

"So whose house is this and how is it you were called before the police were?" Brass surveyed the scene before him, house in shambles, and then noticed that Grissom was not wearing his usual detached expression.

Grissom was about to answer when he glanced at the open doorway behind Brass and saw the ambulance pull up. "Sara can fill you in. I need to make sure Debra is taken care of."

Brass lifted an eyebrow in question. Since when did Grissom call victims by their first names?

"And Jim," Grissom warned as he started to walk out to meet the paramedics, "Walk soft around Sara. The victim is Maggie's mom." With that he left the house.

_Well, shit._ That explained everything. Brass had met Sara's 'little sister' on the few occasions Sara had brought her to the lab, usually to pick something up or visit Grissom. The kid liked bugs, Brass remembered. This was not going to be an easy case. Sara and assault cases were never good. Sara on an assault case where she knew the victim? _Well shit,_ he thought again.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Brass stopped just outside the doorway of the bedroom. He was reluctant to intrude on the scene before him, knowing that he was going to ruin the fragile moments of peace Sara and Maggie had managed to find. Maggie's room had seemed to escape the destruction of the rest of the house. Sighing to himself he knocked on the door frame.

"Sara."

Sara turned at the sound of her name, surprised to find Brass entering the room. She hadn't realized that he had arrived. She had to pay more attention. "Maggie, you remember Captain Brass. He works with Grissom and me." She kept her hand on the girl's shoulder as she stood up. As Brass walked into the room, Maggie took a step closer to Sara, latching onto her side as if attached by velcro.

"The ambulance is here," Brass informed Sara.

"Mommy?"

Sara crouched down once more, and ran a hand along Maggie's hair. "The paramedics are going to take care of her, fix her up so that she doesn't hurt anymore."

Brass watched the two, and felt his heart break a little. He remembered another little girl, asking questions in that same plaintive tone. A little blond nine year old, watching her dad pack a suitcase.

_"Daddy, where are you going? Why are you leaving us?" Her eyes were big, and the look in them was almost more then he could bear. Stopping in the middle of the shirt he was folding, he picked up his daughter and sat down on the edge of the bed with her in his arms._

_"Ellie Rebecca, I am not leaving you. I'm your dad, and I will always be your dad. Your mom and I just need a little break. You know how much mommy and I have been fighting lately." Horrible fights, they had been too. Fights that had culminated in her throwing a nasty little fact at him, shattering any hope he had of keeping his marriage together. Ellie wasn't his. Not his biological daughter. His wife and the mailman. Could there be a worse cliché?_

_"I will be here tomorrow night to pick you up, and we'll go out to dinner, just the two of us." Brass promised his daughter. "How about Frankie's Pizza?"_

_"Can I go with you now?" Ellie begged._

"Can I go with her?" Maggie questioned.

"Not right now, Maggie May. I'll take you to see her tonight, okay?"

"Sara, I hate to do this, but I need to ask you some questions. Maggie too."

"Damn it, Brass. Hasn't she been through enough? Do you really need to make her go through it again?" Whatever calm Sara had managed to find abruptly departed.

"Don't you want to find who did this?" It was a rhetorical question, and Sara

did not bother to answer.

"What do you want to know?" she asked, resigned. Sara was accustomed to being the one doing the questioning, and wasn't comfortable with the tables being turned on her.

"Why don't you just tell me what you know, and I'll stop you if I have any questions."

"I was at home about half an hour ago, and received a phone call from Maggie." She proceeded to fill him in on the events of the last thirty minutes, more then a little uncomfortable when she mentioned that Grissom was the one who answered the phone. Their relationship was not a secret, but she still felt weird when the boundaries between work and personal time were blurred.

"Do you know if Debra has a boyfriend?" Brass asked. As usual, in cases like this he looked to the spouse or significant other.

"Not that I know of. Maggie?" she questioned softly. "Is your mommy dating anyone?"

"Nuh uh. She says she likes it being just her and me."

"What about your dad?" Brass lowered himself to the girl's level as he spoke. "Does he come to visit you?"

"I don't havva dad. He went away when I was a baby." She wouldn't meet him in the eye, was starring at his chest instead.

Brass reached down to his front pocket and unclipped his badge. "Do you want to hold this?" Maggie nodded, and shyly reached for the gold star. It never failed. He had yet to meet the kid who said no to a cop's shiny badge. "Do you know who came to visit your mom today?"

Sara was standing behind Maggie, and Brass could feel her stare aimed at him._ Hurry up, Brass_, it seemed to say.

"I don't know. He said to open the door, but that's not the words he used. He said some words that I'm not allowed to. Like that word that Bobby said at school, and then had to stay in for recess all day. Mommy picked me up and put me in the closet. Said it was a game, like hide and seek, and I couldn't come out 'til she came and got me. But I waited and waited and she didn't come." Maggie's bottom lip was trembling now, tears were starting to form at the corner of her eyes.

"Is that all, Brass?" It was phrased as a question, but Sara was not-so-subtly letting him know that he was finished questioning the little girl. "Yeah. You did good, Maggie. Real good," he reassured the child in his own taciturn way. "I'm going back to the station, see if there's anything in the system about Debra or her husband." After retrieving his badge he left.

As soon as Brass walked out of the room, Grissom walked in. "The paramedics just left," he informed Sara. "They're taking her to Desert Palms."

"Thanks, Griss." She was standing in the middle of the room, Maggie still attached to her side, grasping one of Sara's belt loops.

"I called Nick in. He's coming here, so as soon as he arrives we can go."

"Good."

Grissom was still in the doorway, unsure of how to proceed. He wanted to comfort both the people before him, but didn't know how. Sara's posture screamed that she was holding herself together by sheer force of willpower. He was afraid that if he pulled her into his arms as he wanted to do, she might either snap or fall apart. Neither was a good choice, so he settled for

squeezing her shoulder and then bending down to pick up Maggie.

"So, I was thinking that on the way home we could stop at the lab and see my bugs. Boris has been asking for you to visit."

"Really? He wants me?" Maggie's voice was eager, still retaining that childlike belief that spiders talked.

"Asked for you by name." Grissom confirmed.

"Can we, Sara?" Maggie wore a smile on her face for the first time that day.

"Sure." If they went to the lab, that would give Sara a chance to do a computer search on her own. Not that she didn't have complete faith in Brass, but she needed to be doing something.

"Griss? Sara?" The slight Texas twang of Nick's voice sounded from the living room.

Grissom set Maggie down and went to greet the CSI, leaving Sara to gather Maggie's bag and take the girl out to the truck. He was filling Nick in on the case when they came out of the back room.

"Hey, Mags," Nick interrupted Grissom in the middle of a sentence when the pair approached them. "How's the ant farm?"

Debra had rejected the idea of a pet spider when Maggie had asked for one after

seeing Grissom's tarantula. She had, however, allowed an ant farm. "They're making lots and lots of tunnels. I feed them sugar water everyday, just like Mr. Grissom showed me. You wanna see?" In the natural resilience that comes with childhood, Maggie trustingly reached out her hand to Nick. Practiced big brother, Nick slipped his hand into hers, and let himself be led down the hall.

"How are you?" Grissom gave in to the urge to touch her, cupping her cheek with his palm.

"I'm fine."

Grissom lifted his eyebrow in silent rebuttal. _Fine?_

"What do you want me to say, Griss? I'm angry as hell and whoever beat up Debra had better hope that Brass and his guys find him before I do. I'm fine. Just leave it at that." Her hands were clenched and she was breathing deeply, trying to restrain herself from lashing out physically. None of this was Grissom's fault, but unfortunately for him he was the only one there.

"For a minute, looking at Debra, I saw my mom." She clenched her hands even tighter, feeling the sting as her nails cut into the tender skin on the inside of her hands. If she wasn't so upset, she wouldn't have let that piece of information slip out, not even to Grissom. He knew the basic story of her childhood, but very few details. It wasn't something she talked about, not with anyone.

"He broke her arm once. Usually it was just bruises, but once he pushed her down a flight of stairs. I was eleven. Ben had just turned sixteen, and he drove her to the hospital. She told them she had tripped over a pair of shoes and fallen. That night she cooked him dinner, even though she only had one good arm."

"Sara, I..." Grissom began.

"Can we go see my mom yet, Sara?" Maggie and Nick had returned.

"Not yet, Maggie, but we can go to the lab and see Boris. How's that?" Sara's face revealed none of what she was feeling. If Grissom didn't know better, he would think she was unaffected by the events of the last hour. Unless he looked into her eyes. Well versed in Sara, he took her expression as a hint that she needed to change the subject.

"Let's go."


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Maggie fell asleep in the back seat of the Tahoe, riding home from the lab. A large pink stuffed bunny, named BooBoo, was wrapped up in her arms. Grissom intended to pick up the girl and carry her into Sara's apartment, but Sara beat him to the task. She insisted on carrying Maggie into the house, only pausing long enough for Grissom to unlock the door. He waited for her in the living room while she laid the exhausted girl down on her bed.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked when she entered the room.

"About what?" Sara knew perfectly well what he was talking about, but wasn't ready to discuss anything.

"About Debra, about you, about your mom." He moved into the kitchen briefly and returned with two bottles of water. Removing the lids, he handed one to her.

"There's nothing to talk about. Debra's at the hospital, getting treated. We will find the guy who did this to her. Until then, Maggie is staying here. Anything else is in the past, and doesn't matter." She downed the bottle of water quickly, as if trying to put out a fire inside herself.

"It's not as simple as that. 'The past remains integral to us all... it is assimilated in ourselves and resurrected in an ever-changing present.' "

"I'm not in the mood for questions, and definitely not in the mood for your infernal quoting. Just leave it alone, Griss."

"Fine." For now, he would stop pressing her. But sooner or later she would have to talk about it. It was obvious to him that today had brought up some unresolved issues, even more so then her more difficult cases at work. He had thought Kay Shelton and Linley Parker had been bad, but never in the course of those investigations had she mentioned her past. For her to actually admit that she was thinking about her mother, it was a sign that all was not well.

"I know I'm supposed to work tonight, but I need to take off." Sara was sitting on the couch now, flipping through the pages of a magazine but not looking at it. She needed to do something with her hands, and the magazine had been the first thing she picked up.

"Certainly. I'm sure your boss will understand," he joked. Joining her on the couch, he pulled the magazine out of her hands, replacing it with his own hands. Squeezing them gently, he waited patently until she made eye contact before speaking. "I know that you don't want to talk about it now, but I want you to remember that when you're ready, I'm here to listen."

Sara didn't say a word, just leaned in a buried her head in his shoulder. It still astounded her sometimes, when he said things like that. After six months you would think she would be used to this more open and honest side of Grissom, but she wasn't. Not completely. Sara breathed in deep, taking in the smell of Grissom, letting it seep into her pores. Maybe if she surrounded herself with Grissom, she could push away everything else. The images of an abused Debra and a frightened Maggie still circled in her head, warring with older images of her mother and herself as a child. Closing her eyes she focused solely on the man holding onto her. With her hand on his chest she could feel each beat of his heart. Slow and steady it thumped, and she tried to imagine the rhythm of her own heart matching his. Thump thump. Thump thump. Thump...

Grissom looked down at the woman asleep in his arms. Her hand clenched the fabric of his shirt. Her face was hidden by her hair, and he lifted one hand to push it aside. In sleep the features of her face had relaxed. He was reminded of the first time he had ever seen her asleep. They had gone out for coffee after one of his lectures that first summer they met. He had excused himself to go to the bathroom, and when he returned it was to find an exhausted Sara asleep, with her head pillowed against the window. It was five years before he saw her asleep again, this time in the break room at the lab after working a double. Each time he would stop and take in the sight for a minute before waking her up. He never suspected then that the day would come when Sara asleep would become a common sight.

She sighed softly, nuzzling a little closer to him. Carefully he scooped her up and carried her into the bedroom, laying her next to Maggie on the bed. Entering the kitchen he picked up the phone hanging on the wall. He first called and left a message with the receptionist at the lab to say that Sara would not be coming into work before asking to be transferred to Brass's office.

"Know anything yet, Brass?" He didn't bother identifying himself.

"Sure. I know a pound of feathers weighs the same as a pound of nails."

"Jim." Grissom was well aware of the fact that Brass used his warped sense of humor as a coping mechanism, but he wasn't in the mood today.

"Yeah. So about Debra... turns out she has an ex-husband with a record. Wesley O' Shannon. Assault and battery, drunk and disorderly. Graduated to armed robbery about eight years ago. Spent some time in the pen. Here's the kicker. He was released two weeks ago. Time off for good behavior."

"Any priors for spousal abuse?" He hated to ask the question, and was grateful that Sara was sleeping in the other room.

"No, but I called Desert Palms. This makes her fifth visit to the emergency room. The other visits were all for suspicious accidents. I'm heading over there now to talk to her."

"I'll meet you at the hospital. I want to be there when you question her."

"Fine. I'll see you there."

Grissom hung up the phone and debated whether or not to wake up Sara to come with him. When he looked into the bedroom he decided against it. She was sound asleep and curled protectively around Maggie. Fully aware that he might have a pissed off Sara to deal with later, he made the decision to let her sleep. Writing a brief note letting her know where he was and leaving it on the table, he left the apartment.

Sara woke up to find the room cloaked in the fading hues of twilight. Maggie was asleep beside her in the bed, and although she knew she had not fallen asleep there, it was easy to surmise how she had gotten there. Sara left the bedroom, fully awake after her nap. Walking into the living room, it was immediately apparent that Grissom was not there. Finding his note, she discovered why. Damn it, he knew that I would want to go to the hospital too. She still could. A quick call to the hospital revealed that Debra had been moved to a room. She was being admitted overnight for observation. Visiting hours were from five to eight o'clock. It was now six thirty.

"Hey, Maggie." Sara shook the girl gently to wake her up. "Do you want to go visit your mom?"


	5. Chapter 4

A/N: Someday, I am going to write a fic longer then one chapter that doesn't involve hospital visits. I swear! It's just that they're such a perfect breeding ground for angst.

Thanks for the continued beta'ing, Sprogy. You rock.

Chapter 4

Grissom wasn't surprised when Sara and Maggie showed up at the hospital. He was just glad that they had waited until Brass had finished his interview. Debra had confirmed that it was her ex-husband who had assaulted her, and Brass was already on his way back to the station to fill out an arrest warrant. Grissom had stayed behind, knowing that it was only a matter of time before Sara came.

"Mommy!" Maggie bounced into the hospital room, skipping across the cold tile floor until she reached the bed.

"Hey, pumpkin. I missed you." Debra raised the head of the bed so that she was sitting up. "Come sit with me," she said as she patted the mattress beside her.

Maggie climbed into the bed with a little help from Grissom who was seated in the chair closest to the bed. "Can I press that button too?" she asked her mom, pointing to the lever that raised and lowered the bed.

"No, sweetie. It's not a toy." Debra stroked her daughter's hair with her uninjured arm. "You can sign my cast with your markers when we get home though."

"Oh! Can I use pink and purple and blue?" Maggie asked, already distracted from the forbidden button.

"You can use any colors you want."

"How are you feeling, Debra?" Sara spoke for the first time. She still stood in the doorway, as if she was preparing for a quick escape if it became necessary.

"Not bad, considering. Knowing that you're watching Maggie takes a load off my mind."

Sara cautiously stepped into the room. Hospitals. She hated hospitals. They never signified anything good. Grissom rose from his chair, offering it to Sara. Reluctantly she sat down.

"I'm going to go find some coffee. Do you want some?" Grissom asked. Sara shook her head. "Come on, Cricket. Maybe we can find you a candy bar." He waited for Maggie to climb down the bed before leaving the room, pausing to squeeze Sara's shoulder in reassurance.

"How are you really?" Sara asked again once they were alone.

"Not bad, right now. They gave me some pretty good drugs, so I'm not feeling much of anything bad."

"Do you know who did this to you?" she hated to ask, but felt that she had to.

"Yeah." Debra looked away from Sara, a flush of embarrassment flooding her cheeks. "His name's Wes. Wesley O' Shannon. Maggie's father and my ex-husband. I didn't know that he'd been paroled."

Sara listened silently as Debra spoke. So Brass had been right.

"He got put away when Maggie was just a couple of months old. Wes and I went to high school together. We got married when we were both eighteen. He was always a little wild. I think that's what drew me to him at first. You know, bad boy with a motorcycle and a leather jacket. Hard not to be flattered when he turned his attention my way. After we got married, though, he got worse. Before, he would yell sometimes, but after..." Debra pursed her lips in memory. "This is not the first time he's sent me to the hospital. It was a relief, really, when he and a couple of buddies failed at their attempt to rob a casino."

Debra's eyes were drooping, a combination of the medicines she was taking and the trauma of the day. Sara bit her tongue to keep from saying anything. There were so many questions she wanted to ask, none of them appropriate. _Why did you stay? Why didn't you ask for help? Why didn't you fight back?_ Debra was not the right person to ask. Really, she wanted to ask her mother.

"Get some sleep, Debra. We'll come pick you up tomorrow."

Grissom had only just managed to fall asleep after coming home from work when the sound of shouting filling the room woke him up.

"No... no... NO!" Sara was thrashing on the bed, kicking her legs until the blankets were all on the floor.

"Sara." He shook her gently in a failed attempt to wake her. All it earned him was a swift kick in the shin. "Sara." he repeated, louder this time. He didn't dare shake her again, didn't feel the need to repeat _that_ experiment. She didn't respond.

"Don't. Please... don't." The volume of her voice was lower now. It should have been a good sign, but the softening of her voice allowed the pain behind the words come through. She sounded, not like a strong thirty-four year old woman, but a frightened child. The mournful tone made him cringe. Why wasn't she safe and protected as a child? His own childhood had been far from perfect, raised by a single parent who happened to be deaf. But he never doubted for a moment that his mother loved him.

Risking another bruised shin, or worse, he pulled Sara into him. She fought against him for a moment, but then calmed down. Still asleep, she tugged at the arm wrapped around her, pulling him even closer.

"Thank you," Sara muttered.

"Always." Grissom didn't know if she was awake or not. Wasn't sure if she was thanking him in particular or just whatever made the nightmares go away.

He had always known that she had nightmares. She had mentioned them once, a few months after she had started working at the lab. In the past few months he had witnessed a few first hand, heard the low moans or felt her get up from the bed in the middle of the day. He himself had experienced more then a few nightmares. It was a side effect of their job. Sara's nightmares went beyond that.

"I promise you, Sara Sidle, I'll do everything I can to make the nightmares go away." The sleeping woman in his arms didn't stir.

"Do you want a grilled cheese sandwich?" Sara was standing in front of the stove, spatula in hand, when Grissom entered the kitchen. He had just woken up, catching all of five hours of sleep. It was now a little after noon, which meant lunch for most people. Not for him.

"No, thanks. I'll have cereal." After so many years on the grave shift, meals were generally composed of whatever he craved. Today, it was breakfast.

"I'm helping Sara make lunch," Maggie piped up from atop the counter, where she was seated.

"I can see that. Good job." Grissom stepped up behind Sara. He wrapped his arms around her, mimicking in the vertical the same comforting pose he had held her in earlier this morning.

"Hey." Sara leaned back into him, turning her head to place a quick kiss on the underside of his chin. "Good afternoon, sleepyhead," she joked. Either she didn't remember the night before, or she was avoiding it.

"Don't you look all domesticated, with your apron, spatula, and even a sou chef. Someone might think that you can do more in the kitchen then make cheese sandwiches and reheat leftovers." If she wanted lighthearted banter and flirting this morning, he was happy to oblige. Releasing his hold on her, he turned her around and gave her a proper good morning kiss. Sara sunk into the warmth, letting herself forget everything else until she became aware of the giggling behind her.

"Uh, Gil. Don't forget we have an audience." Reluctantly Grissom ended the kiss.

"Eww. Doesn't he have cooties, Sara?" Maggie scrunched up her face. "All the boys in my class have cooties, and during recess they chase the girls and try to give them cooties too."

Grissom didn't know what to say to that, but Sara did. "When little boys grow up, they loose their cooties. Grissom's safe." She explained this patiently to Maggie, as if it made perfect sense. Grissom looked at her, single eyebrow raised in question. Cooties?

"You never told a little girl she had cooties when you were in elementary school?" Sara questioned Grissom later, as they were cleaning the dishes. Maggie was in the other room, watching TV.

"Can't say I did. I tried to show Sally Jane my African hissing cockroach once. Does that count?"

"I bet she loved that. What were you doing with a roach at school?" She could almost see a miniature Grissom, curly brown hair and too-large glasses, holding up a mayonnaise jar to proudly display his pet.

"Science fair. First place, too."

"Don't tell me. You raced them, right?" Grissom shrugged, as if to say 'It's what I do.' Sara rolled her eyes.

"How was work last night?" she questioned.

Damn. There goes the relaxed mood of the morning.

"Fine," he answered evasively.

"Did the cops pick up Wes?"

"No." Grissom braced himself for her reaction.

"What? Why not? We know he's in Vegas." She was clearly agitated, and decided to take it out on the dishes in the sink. Plates and frying pan met in a crash. Amazingly, nothing broke.

Grissom grasped both of Sara's hands in his own, before she could cause any actual damage.

"Brass has guys out looking for him as we speak. We'll find him," he reassured.

"I want to be there when he's interviewed." She was griping his hands tightly, her own knuckles turning white.

"I don't think that's a good idea. You're too close to the case." He rubbed the back of her hands with his thumbs as if the motion alone could calm her.

"I didn't say I wanted to conduct the interview. I just want to be there, see it for myself."

Grissom sighed. It was a bad idea, but he knew there was no way he was going to be able to talk her out of it.

"You can watch from the observation room."

"But Grissom..." she protested.

"Observation room or nothing, Sara. That's my deal."

"Fine."

It was as if the entire justice system was waiting for her agreement. At that exact moment Grissom's cell phone rang. He answered it, and after listening briefly hung up. "That was Brass. They have Wes O' Shannon in custody."


	6. Chapter 5

A/N: Veronica, your right. Interagations are great for angst. I love reviews. They inspire me. Warning, more language then usual in this chapter. Wes has a potty mouth.

Chapter 5

"Don't know what you're talking about. Wasn't anywhere near Oak Street

yesterday."

Wes O' Shannon appeared to be a man perfectly at ease in an interrogation room. He was leaning back in the chair, legs spread out wide and thumbs stuck in his belt loops of his ragged jeans. A faded black t-shirt and leather jacket completed the look. When he spoke, he looked like he was having a conversation with a friend. Brass was not amused.

"You're only making it worse for yourself by lying. We have a witness."

"If you're talking about my old lady, you can't trust a word she says. Woman's a liar."

"So she, what, lied about her arm being broken? And those bruises are probably a figment of my imagination." Brass couldn't believe the gall of the man.

"Probably. I was at the bar all night last night, ask my buddies." He smirked at Brass.

"Two problems with that. First of all, I wouldn't believe a word they said. They'd have to be pretty stupid, considering they chose to hang out with you. More importantly, crime didn't happen last night. Happened yesterday morning." _Take that, scumbag._

"Whatever. Still wasn't me."

Sara grew more and more agitated with each denial Wes made. She stood in the observation room as promised, separated by only a thin piece of glass from Brass's interrogation. Every muscle in her body was tensed, like a female lion guarding her cub, ready to strike at any moment. One hand pressed against the glass, and if force of will was enough she would have pressed through the glass and be in the room. What she would do once there, she wasn't sure. In one small corner of her mind, she wondered if perhaps Grissom had been right in refusing her access to the interrogation room. Willfully, she pushed the thought aside.

"For the last time, I didn't go to see Debra yesterday. Haven't seen her or the little bastard she claims is my daughter since I got out two weeks ago." Wes spoke petulantly, more like a teenager then a man of almost thirty.

That was the last straw for Sara. She couldn't hold herself back any longer. Within seconds of Wes's words she flew out of the observation room and into the hallway, intent on letting Wes know her wrath. Her hand was on the doorknob when another hand covered hers and pulled her back.

"You can't go in there."

"The hell I can't." So intent on getting to Wes, she didn't even take in who was restraining her. Didn't care. All that mattered was getting into that room and forcing the lying sack of shit to tell the truth. She had to make sure he paid for what he did. She made a promise. Again she reached to open the door, and again she was pulled away. Whirling around, Sara balled up her fists, prepared to battle whoever stood in her way.

"Sara, it's being taken care of. He's not going to get away." Grissom had a solemn look on his face as he watched her.

"Did you hear him?" she demanded. "He's sitting in there, calm as could be, denying what he did. And he called Maggie a..." she couldn't say it out loud. The word tasted like ashes in her mouth.

"He can lie all he wants. We have Debra's statement, plus the evidence Nick collected at the house." His tone was calm, his words logical. Someone who didn't know better would think that he was unaffected by the case. Sara knew, and the banked anger in his eyes was the only thing that kept her from lashing out against his collected exterior.

"He makes me so angry. How can a man like that share half of the same DNA as someone like Maggie?" She was still upset, but her muscles no longer quivered with the rage of a few minutes ago. Grissom wished that they were away from the lab, if even for a moment. He wanted the chance to be her lover and hold her until her store of anger was depleted. As her boss, he had to settle for a gentle squeeze of her upper arm. All hell broke loose a moment later.

The door to the interrogation room opened, and a police officer stepped out followed by Wes O' Shannon. He wore silver handcuffs on his wrists, but he was swaggering.

"I'll be out of here in no time. You'll see." Wes aimed the comment at Brass, who had joined the crowd in the hallway, but swept his head to include all onlookers.

"The only place you'll be going is back to prison." Sara couldn't stop herself from speaking.

"I don't think so, bitch."

Sara took offense to that remark. She took a step towards him, and was perversely pleased when his automatic reaction was to take a step back. "That's right. You like to bully defenseless women and little children. You're not so tough when faced with people who can defend themselves, are you Wes?"

Wes's eyes narrowed as he stepped forward to recover his lost ground and then some. He stood less then a foot away from Sara now. "What I think, bitch, is that if you had someone to show you the back of their fist a little more often you would know your place. Stay the fuck out of my business."

Sara lunged at him, but Grissom beat her to it. Grabbing the lapel of Wes's leather jacket, Grissom shoved him against the glass hallway wall.

"You don't speak to her like that," he growled. "Listen to me, and listen close. In addition to a sworn statement from your ex-wife, we have your epithelials recovered from her body, a footprint from outside the house that I'm sure will match you, and your police record, which shows a tendency towards violent behavior. To add to that, there is a whole hallway full of witnesses who just saw you threaten an officer." In disgust, Grissom released Wes and

stepped back.

"Take him to booking," Brass instructed the uniformed officer before turning to face his friend.

"You don't let go very often, but when you do it sure is a good show. Feeling any better?" he asked.

Grissom didn't answer. He looked over his shoulder to the spot where Sara had stood, and found it empty. Out of the corner of his eye he could see her disappearing around the corner, heading down a hall that would lead to the lab's exit.

"Damn it."

She couldn't breath. The air refused to enter her lungs. Sara stood in the hallway, completely paralyzed except for the rapid beating of her heart. Wes's voice echoed in her head, growing in volume until it was no longer distinguishable as being his voice.

_...show you the back of their fist _

_...back of their fist _

_...fist._

The image of a fist, large and meaty with scabbed knuckles, filled her mind. She flinched, and stumbled backwards. Catching herself against the wall, Sara turned her head to look down the hallway, first to one side and then the other. Her only conscious thought was to find the quickest way out of the building. She had to get away. He would find her. No, he wouldn't. He was dead. It didn't matter, she still had to flee. Needed to find a safe place to hide. Not even noticing Grissom's assault on Wes or the mixed reactions from the spectators in the hallway, Sara ran down the hall until she reached the back door.

Collapsing on the ground just outside the door, Sara took a deep breath. Better. Her heart was still beating a thousand times a minute, but at least she was able to breath. She sat in the fenced in storage area behind the lab, not noticing that it was this exact spot that she had shared with Grissom just two months after she had moved to Vegas. As she rocked her body back and forth she lectured herself.

"Your safe, Sara. He's gone, can't hurt you anymore." It wasn't working. She could still see that hand, growing larger as it came closer to her. It had always seemed so huge, on those rare occasions when her father tired of taking out his anger on her mother and turned to her instead.

Standing up, Sara began to pace the area like a caged animal. She continued to speak to herself in a low tone. It was a habit she had picked up as a teenager, floating from foster home to foster home. She had had no one to rely on, so when she was upset or in need of reassurance she talked to herself, and when she was happy she sang.

Coming to a stop in front of the dumpster, Sara released some of her emotions in the form of kicking the hard metal. Each time she kicked, the empty dumpster echoed back a resounding thump.

"Your a grown woman, (thump) trained in marksmanship (thump) and weaponless defense. (thump) He has no power over you."

"He does if you left him have power over you."

Sara, surprised by the sudden appearance of Grissom in the lot, kicked the dumpster with more force then she meant to.

"Fuck." She fell to the ground and grabbed her foot with her hand. Pain shot up from her toe, causing her to grimace in reaction. Grissom was beside her in an instant, reaching to pull off her shoe and examine her foot. Sara pulled her foot away from him, but quickly regretted her movement when another wave of pain assaulted her.

"Its fine, Grissom. Leave it alone." Careful to keep all of her weight on the other foot, Sara stood up and limped to the door, leaving a hurt and slightly bewildered Grissom sitting on the ground behind her.

It wasn't fine. Once Sara limped into the break room and lowered herself to the couch, she removed her shoe and sock. Her big toe was already swelling, and was now a color toes did not naturally turn. Great. This was just perfect. Picking up her phone, Sara hit the speed dial number that would connect her to Catherine. Since she had the night off, Catherine had volunteered to watch Maggie during the interview. It looked like Sara was going to need her help a little longer.

She had just hung up the phone when Nick walked into the room. He took one look at her bare foot propped up on the table and the expression on her face, and decided that his first question 'did you finally kick Ecklie' was better left unasked. He settled on the simplest statement. "That looks like it hurts."

Sara shot him a look, which he correctly interpreted to mean 'no shit, Sherlock.' "Can you give me a ride to the emergency room? I think I broke it, or at least sprained it."

"Sure thing. What did you do?" he asked, before walking over to help her off the couch.

"Not going to talk about it," she informed him before releasing his grasp and limping out of the room ahead of him.


	7. Chapter 6

A/N: This chapter almost killed me to write. Grissom _would not _react the way I wanted him to. My eternal gratitude goes to Sprogy, my beta. I might have given up this whole story if not for you.

Chapter 6

More then four hours passed before Nick dropped Sara of at her apartment. All she wanted to do was take the pain killers the doctor had proscribed for her broken toe and go to sleep. Two and a half hours sitting in a waiting room with nothing but aspirin to dull the pain had done little to improve her mood. Neither did the walking cast currently velcroed to her foot or the crutches she would be forced to use for the next weeks.

Sara reached for her keys as she approached the front door, but before she could dig them out of her pocket the door was yanked open by Grissom. Sara wasn't sure if she was pissed off that he was waiting for her like a teenager late for curfew, or relieved to know that she wouldn't have to be alone with her memories. She didn't have the chance to make up your mind.

"No cast," Grissom commented as she walked into the apartment. His voice was calm and even, as if he was making an observation about the weather, except that his words didn't make any sense. She had a cast. A large, blue, horrible thing that was wrapped around her foot. Sara narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth, ready to make a sarcastic comment about his observation skills when he clarified his comment.

"Your hand. There's no cast on your hand. I thought, since you didn't bother to so much as call once in the last four hours, perhaps you had managed to also break your hand."

Oh, shit. It was never a good sign when Grissom drew into himself and resorted to sarcasm. He was either royally pissed or supremely hurt. Sara chewed on her lower lip as she braced herself to look closer at the man standing before her. Maybe he was both.

"Damn it, Sara. What do you mean by storming out of the lab like that, without saying a word? If it wasn't for Nick, I wouldn't have had a clue as to where you were. Would it have been that difficult to pick up your phone and call, if nothing else just given me the common courtesy to let me know that you were alright?" As he spoke the calm facade fell away, to be replaced by something she, or anyone else for that matter, rarely saw. Grissom angry.

"You refuse my help, and then you just disappear. Not a word. Not one word, Sara." He was angry, true, but more upset then anything. She was closing herself off from him, and he didn't know what to do about it. The irony of the situation wasn't lost on him. He, who had been accused of being unfeeling, detached from life, and a robot, was upset about someone else's emotional withdrawal. This wasn't just anyone, though. This was Sara. He was so overwhelmed that he couldn't sort through all that he was feeling.

Sara could feel her own temper rising. The last thing she needed right now was a lecture on manners. But she also did not need to begin what could quite possibly turn into a screaming match so she turned her back to Grissom and maneuvered herself into the kitchen. Through a miraculous feat of balancing she managed to retrieve a glass from the cupboard and fill it with water without dropping her crutches or falling. Opening up the childproof cap on the amber colored bottle proved to be a little easier.

Sara was walking out of the kitchen when she heard the tell tale click of the front door being shut. Sure enough, when she entered the living room it was empty. Grissom was gone. Limping over to the couch, Sara lowered herself slowly, leaning the crutches against the end table next to her. Swinging around, she raised her foot so that it rested on the arm of the couch opposite her.

Any anger she might have felt drained away, to be replaced by a horrible sensation of loneliness. It surprised her. She didn't want to be alone. No, that isn't quite right. She didn't want to be without him. It was a revelation to her, this need. Never before had she felt this hint of panic when a boyfriend left, not even when it was a final goodbye. She had never let anyone get close enough to affect her that strongly. Not until now.

He didn't know where he was going. Not home. His 'hermetically sealed' townhouse held no interest to him. Not after the past few months with most of his free time spent in the warm and cozy surroundings of Sara's apartment. Work was not an option either. During the daylight hours the lab belonged to Ecklie and his crew. The mood he was in, any run-in with the dayshift supervisor would not be pleasant. More then coffee pots could be destroyed.

After driving aimlessly around the city, Grissom eventually parked his car and started walking instead. He needed to do something physical to work the raw emotion out of his system. So focused on the myriad of thoughts running around in his head, he didn't take in his surroundings until he looked up and noticed that he was standing in front of an ice cream shop. Not just any ice cream store either, but the one that he had taken Sara and Maggie to the first time they had gone out together. If he had been a man who believed in fate, he might have believed he was meant to walk in this direction, at this time. Logical man of science that he was, his first thought was of the subconscious mind and its control over the physical body.

Standing still for long minutes, he stared into the window of the store, not really seeing the build as it was now. He saw instead the first time he had been there. Sara was seated across from him, dressed more casually then he was used to seeing her. He remembered the light conversation the three of them had made, and how relaxed he had felt. Weeks later they were there again, this time dressed to the nines after a performance of the Lion King.

Grissom remembered how excited Maggie was every time they came here, bouncing around the store as she picked out just the right flavor of ice cream and made the difficult decision between cup or cone. He found himself thinking of Sara, and wondering if she ever had the same experience as a child. Was there ever someone to take her out for ice cream? He tried to picture her, nine years old, sitting at one of the tables. The picture wouldn't gel. The last remnants of his anger fell away, and he silently turned his back to the store and began the long walk back to his car.

Between the cast on her foot and the pain killers she had taken, Sara decided that driving would be a bad idea. Not wanting to bother any of her friends, or explain to the why she needs a ride, Sara called for a cab. Thirty minutes later, and twenty dollars poorer, she found herself in front of Grissom's townhouse. The lights were off and her knock went unanswered, so either Grissom wasn't home or he didn't want to see her. She had her own key, but didn't feel right about using it after this morning. So she sat down on the front steps, foot elevated, prepared to wait as long as necessary.

Grissom found her an hour later, huddled on the cold concrete steps, sound asleep. "What am I going to do with you?" he asked her sleeping form. As quietly as possible he unlocked his front door, carrying the abandoned crutches inside before bending down and picking Sara up. She didn't stir until he laid her down on the bed.

"Griss?" she muttered confusedly.

"Shh. Go back to sleep, Sara." He pulled back the covers and slipped out of his clothes before joining her in the bed.

"I'm sorry, about earlier. I didn't..." She needed to make him understand.

"There's plenty of time to talk about it later, when we're both thinking more clearly. For now, I just want to sleep." He closed his eyes to signal that he was done talking about it for now.

Sara waited until she heard the tell tale slowing of his breathing that meant he was asleep. She moved in closer to him, needing to feel the touch of his skin against hers before sleep could claim her too. She was almost asleep when he shifted, throwing his arm over her waist and pulling her even closer to him. The boundaries that they drew around themselves, even now, fell away in sleep.


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

_She was huddled in the back of the closet, knees pulled up to her chin, trembling. The arguing had stopped, but she didn't dare move from her spot. She was alone, but then she wasn't._

_"Maggie?" she questioned as the little girl appeared next to her in the closet._

_"Shh..." she whispered. "We have to be quiet, or else he will find us."_

_"He who?" But her question was asked to emptiness. Maggie was gone. In a blink of the eye the closet was gone too, and she was standing in a hallway. Green shag carpet crept up between the toes of her bare feet. She was standing in front of a door, and as much as she didn't want to open it, her hand seemed to act of its own volition. The door swung open and a scream echoed from within the room. The walls were red, dripping, bleeding. She tried to enter the room, but crime scene tape blocked the door. Pushing and shoving, she finally forced her way into the room. The door swung closed behind her, and she knew without testing that it was locked._

_The room was empty except for the dead body in the middle of the room. First it was her father, laying there with the knife at his side as she had seen him twenty years ago. He faded away, to be replaced with the bruised and still form of Debra. In an instant Debra was gone, and it was Kay Shelton laying there, bugs filling the room until the air was so think the blood on the walls was no longer visible. She closed her eyes, skin creeping at the sight of so many bugs. When she opened them it was to find Linley Parker curled up in a fetal position on the floor. The sight lasted only for a moment, and when Linley's body disappeared it was replaced with a bloody and battered Maggie stretched out on the ground._

_"No! Oh God, no." She tried to rush to the girl, needing to feel for a heart beat, breathing, any sign she was still alive. The harder she tried to reach the center of the room and Maggie, though, the farther away it seemed to get._

_"Maggie? Maggie!"_

"Maggie!" Sara shot up in bed, waking herself with a mix of fear and pain, as she hit her foot against the footboard of the bed. For a moment she was still stuck in the empty room, still paralyzed by the litany of bodies that flashed before her eyes. Her vision focused, and for a minute she was even more confused. She was no longer locked in the nightmare, but she wasn't in the familiar surroundings of her own bedroom either. Another sweep of the room and she took in the surroundings more carefully, her heart stopping when she came to the still form in the bed beside her. Grissom. Of all the faces that had taunted her, she was grateful his was not among them. Grissom dead, even in the illusionary world of her dreams, was not something she could cope with.

As quietly as possible, Sara slipped out of the bed. She needed to escape the cobwebs of her dream, needed to move around and turn on lights, prove to herself that there was no secret room dripping blood here.

"Sara?" His voice was deep and husky from sleep. Grissom woke up the instant he felt her leave the bed.

"I'm sorry." Sorry for waking you up, sorry for shutting you out, sorry for being such a bitch.

"You're leaving?" Still half asleep, he took in the fact that she was full dressed but didn't remember that he had placed her in bed that way.

"No. God, no." She hated that that was the first thing he thought, and knew it was entirely her own fault. "I just can't be in bed anymore. I might fall asleep."

"You had another nightmare," he stated, understanding.

Sara nodded.

"Tell me about it." He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Clad only in boxers, he reached over to open the top drawer of the dresser and pull out a t-shirt. Pulling it over his head, he stood up and joined Sara in the doorway of the room. Clasping her hand in his, he led her from the room and pulled her down the hallway to the couch.

She wasn't sure, until she started speaking, how much she was going to tell him. Curled up in the corner of the couch, legs pulled up in a position that mimicked that of her nightmare, she released the story that had been held inside for so long. Rather then tell of the nightmare, or even the events of the last few weeks, she started at the beginning.

"My first memory is of my parents arguing. I must have been about three, old enough to sleep in a regular bed. It wasn't unusual, to hear them going at it, but it scared me. Every time, I would wake up. Every single time, I would feel scared. Benny would come in my room, creeping in more quietly then a little boy should have to. He'd sit with me on the bed, hold my hand." Sara looked down to where Grissom's hand joined hers. Different hand, but the same unconditional

offering of support.

"Sometimes it was just the yelling. They would argue for hours, and then it was a silent alarm went off and they were done. Sometimes, though, it wouldn't stop at yells. The next day at breakfast my mother would be moving slowly, wearing pants and long sleeved shirts even in the summer. He usually avoided her face. Anything else was fair game, but he was smart. Didn't bruise the places she couldn't hide."

"Did he..." Grissom bit his lip, fighting to hold in the words that he knew needed to come out. Words he knew would hurt her, bring up old recollections she would rather leave buried. But he also knew how painful memories can fester, seeping into the present. He forced himself to finish the thought. "Did he ever hit you?"

She didn't answer, just looked at him and closed her eyes before nodding ever so slightly. Grissom was glad her eyes were closed. He was sure that the raw rage that filled him was clearly visible, and she didn't need that right now. The picture of a young Sara, with a black eye or bruised skin made him want to lash out and hit something. Better yet, someone. Because of the anger he felt, he was extra cautious with his movements. As if moving in slow motion, he trailed his fingers down the side of her face, his thumbs caressing her eyelids until they fluttered open under his touch. A single tear rolled down her cheek.

"As horrible as it was when he... when my mom..." Died. Killed. She couldn't say either one out loud. She used them everyday, part of the common vocabulary for a CSI. When it came to her past, the words took on a whole different meaning.

"...it was a nightmare, but it was also a relief. My father was dead, and after the shock wore of my first thought was that I wouldn't ever have to hide from him again."

"It's a perfectly normal reaction, given the situation."

"Normal?" she spat out, jumping off the couch. "Normal, to look at the body of my father laying in a pool of blood and feel joy? To look at the knife in my mother's hand and feel grateful? Yeah, Griss, that's real fucking normal."

Grissom grabbed her arm and yanked her to him, no longer carrying about being gentle or restraining his emotions. He dropped her arm to move his hand to her face, pressing a palm to each side of her head and forcing her to look at him.

"You were a kid. The two people who should have protected you from the world made it hell for you instead. None of it was your fault." Sara tried to turn her head, look away from his intense stare. Grissom wouldn't let her escape. "None of it. You did the best you could. You survived. That's what matters. You lived through the nightmare, and you're here."

She understood what he was saying on a rational level, had said the same things to herself a thousand times. The darkest parts of the heart don't listen to logic and reason, though, and in those deep recesses she was still a lost little girl looking for a hand to hold.

"Sometimes, when the nightmares come, I'm afraid I won't wake up. There are days I'm afraid to go to sleep."

Grissom softened his hold on her, sliding his hands around to cup the back of her neck and pull her into him.

"When the nightmares come, I will wake you up. If you need to be awake, I'll stay up with you," he whispered in her ear, not caring how irrational or corny he sounded. His only needed was to offer her reassurance and make it crystal clear that she was not alone.

Pulling back far enough to see her reaction, he was relieved to find that the haunted look was gone from her face. Salty trails of tears were drying along her cheeks, and Grissom softly kissed each one as if the action could erase the cause of the tears. His lips followed the trail down her cheek, veering to the side when he reached her lips. Softly at first, then with more energy he kissed her. She opened her mouth to his unspoken plea, leaning into the man and the kiss. She tasted of tears and strawberries, he tasted of cinnamon and cloves. Together they sunk into the flavors and textures, pushing the heavy thoughts and painful subjects away. They both needed to forget the events of the past twenty-four hours, and remind themselves that there was still good and light in the world.

Grissom reached for Sara's hand and lead her back down the hallway to the bed they had abandoned earlier. He lowered her onto the tangle of sheets, and she quickly pulled him down to join her. It was a long time before either slept, and when they did the nightmares stayed away.


	9. Chapter 8

A/N: I'm so sorry for the lateness of this chapter. I had the worst case of writter's block. I knew what i wanted to happen in the next chapter, but couldn't figure out how to get there. Also, I have to admit, I was a little wrapped up in a new story I'm writing. Thank you to everyone who reveiwed the last chapter, and anyone who is still reading this.

Chapter 8

Someone was jumping on her. She was pulled out of a sound sleep by the bouncing, as well as the repetitive calling of her name.

"Sara, Sara, Sara..." The voice wouldn't leave her alone. Sara refused to open her eyes. She pulled the comforter over her head, taking refuge in the darkness and the muffling of sound. She was exhausted. Between the nightmares, the memories, and Grissom's method of distracting her from both (okay, that part she wasn't complaining about) the only thing she wanted to be doing right now was sleeping.

"Sara, wake up." The jumping had ended, but now she was being poked. Whoever was trying to wake her up was too damn persistent.

"Ten more minutes," she muttered from under the covers.

"Nu-uh. Miss Catherine says it's time for you to get up. We get to go pick my mommy today."

The voice sunk in before the words did. Maggie was the one currently sitting on her bed. As her brain began to awaken she analyzed Maggie's speech.

"Catherine's here. Now?" Sara started to get out of the bed. Suddenly she froze, realizing that she wasn't wearing any pajamas. Grabbing at the comforter, she pulled it up to her neck.

"Sweetie, go tell Cath I'll be out in a minute, okay."

"Okee doke," Maggie agreed. With one last bounce she was off the bed.

"Hey Maggie," Sara called out just as the little girl was about to exit the room, "tell Grissom there better be a pot of coffee already made."

She wished that she could say that telling Grissom her story yesterday had made her feel better. Okay, maybe it did, a little. At least she felt more secure in their personal relationship. If he stuck around after hearing all that, nothing else she could say was going to scare him away. She still felt like she was falling apart, though. Memories from twenty plus years ago weighed on her, wrapping around her like the coastal fogs she had grown up with. She fought to push them away, at least for a little while longer.

Sara dressed as quickly as she could, limping around the room to collect jeans and a T-shirt, re-velcroing the walking cast to her foot. Grabbing the crutches lying next to the bed, she left the safety of her bedroom.

Grissom had a mug of coffee waiting for her, lightened by a splash of cream and sweetened with too much sugar; just the way she liked it.

"Oh, Sara, what did you do? Does it hurt? Can I sign it, like I did my mom's?" Maggie gestured towards Sara's cast as she asked her barrage of questions.

"Sorry, Mags. This isn't the kind of cast you sign. I hurt my toe, and have to wear this until it feels better." The rather simplified version of the truth seemed to be enough to please the girl. Content, she bounced away into the living room, settling quickly into one of her favorite TV shows.

Catherine watched the exchange from her seat at the dining room table. She waited until Sara had found her own seat, coffee mug in hand, before speaking.

"So, round one of Sara versus the dumpster didn't turn out so well," she commented dryly.

Silently, Sara cursed Nick and his big mouth. She knew she never should have told him how she hurt herself, but she had been tired and unfocused, and he wormed the story out of her.

"Seemed like a good idea at the time." Sara tried to brush it off as a

joke.

Grissom entered the room then, carrying in two plates of toast and scrambled eggs. 'Eat' he mouthed at Sara before he walked back to the kitchen. Only the fact that Catherine was at the table kept Sara from rolling her eyes or sticking out her tongue.

"So how was Maggie?" Sara asked to change the subject. "Was she alright, spending the night at your house?"

"Maggie was fine. Followed Lindsey around the whole time, wanting to do whatever she was doing. Lindsey loved it, gave Maggie a makeover." Catherine had marveled at how secure the little girl was, after the last few days. She had reacted with a simple 'cool, can I go play in Lindsey's room?' when Catherine had told her that she was spending the night there, instead of back at Sara's.

Sara remembered that feeling, of latching on to an older girl as a role model. The first foster home she had been placed at, it had been Kansas. Sixteen years old, with a wardrobe of torn jeans and punk shirts, Kansas had taken the shell shocked girl under her wing. Taught Sara about the system she had already been a part of for ten years, how to give the social workers

the right answers, how to hide her possessions when she was away from the house. Taught her how to smoke, too. For six months Sara had followed the teenager around like a ghost. Then Kansas had run away. 'Time to try it on my own,' she had explained. That was the last time Sara let herself get close to any of her foster siblings.

Once breakfast was finished, Catherine excused herself with an excuse of errands that needed to be run before Lindsey got out of school. Glancing at the clock, Sara realized that she had her own errand to run. Check out time at the hospital would start in half an hour.

"Maggie, you ready to go get your mom?"

Within seconds, the TV was turned off and Maggie was standing by her side. "Really, Sara?

"Really, Maggie. Go tell Griss we're ready to go."

"Sorry." Sara apologized for the second time since entering the lab five minutes ago. Twice she had almost run into someone, accidents only avoided by the other person's quick movements. A combination of walking on crutches and not paying attention made Sara a lethal person to be around. Her mind was not on the here and now, but the pair she had just left. She and Grissom had picked Debra up from the hospital, staying with her until it was time for work. Sara knew that logically there was no reason she and Maggie couldn't be alone. A broken arm made chores more difficult, but not impossible, and there was no need to worry about Wes coming back. He was safely locked up. She still felt uneasy, though, and wished that she could

have stayed longer. Work, as always, beckoned.

"Hey Sara." Nick was the only other person in the break room when she entered. "How's the toe?"

"How's the mouth?" she countered.

"Nothing wrong with my...oh, sorry." His cheeks turned pink. "You know I can't keep anything secret from Cath. She called me last night."

"Talked to Catherine, talked to Griss. You have any minutes left on your phone plan?" Sarcasm dripped from Sara's voice, but then Nick looked at her, and she relented. It was hard to stay mad at Nick when he gave one of those 'awe, shucks' expressions.

"What happened to you, girl?" Warrick's voice sounded from the doorway.

Sara glared at Nick, preventing him from answering the question. "I hurt my toe. No big deal." She dismissed the injury with a shrug of her shoulders, glad that even those who knew how she got hurt didn't know of the why behind it. No one but Grissom had any knowledge of her past, and she wanted to keep it that way.

"It's some kind of deal, if the cast and crutches are any indication." Warrick looked her over, studying her with piecing eyes that seem to see through her. He shook his head a little, as if sensing that something was off, but didn't say anything further.

Catherine entered the room then and Grissom a moment later. Sara gave him a half hearted smile before she limped out of the room. She had no desire to stay for assignments, when she knew there wouldn't be one for her. She was lab bound for the next few weeks. It was almost enough to make her consider using some of the vacation time she had accumulated. Almost, but not quite. After all, what would she do, besides sit around her apartment and stew?

No, better to work, even when work was limited to the four walls of this building.

Warrick found her in the layout room, almost four hours later. She was working an unsolved case from a week ago, a woman shot coming out of the grocery store. The table was covered with plastic evidence bags, while pictures of the crime scene were taped to the walls.

"How's it going?" he asked, even though the expression on her face made it clear that it was not going well.

"I can't figure it out. It's like the answer is right in front of me, but I can't see it for all the other pieces." Her voice was infused with frustration, partially at herself but mostly at the crime she couldn't solve. A young boy would now grow up without a mother, and she at least needed to tell him why.

"Stare at it long enough, the only thing your going to get is a headache. I'm in need of a break too. Why don't you come with me to the diner, and we'll grab some food?"

"No, thanks. I need to work on this some more, see if I can't figure out the why, if not, the who." She picked up a bag from the table, this one containing a .35 caliber bullet.

"There isn't always an easy why, Sara."

"I know," she sighed, not meeting his gaze, "But I need to try."

"Try after we eat. Maybe, if you take a step back, you'll see something you didn't before. If nothing else, you'll have enough fuel to last a while longer," he rationalized.

"I don't..."

"Food, Sara. Come take a break with me, okay?"

Sara looked at the pictures pinned to the wall, the objects on the table, the case file that she had been staring at for hours. Then she looked at her friend, standing with his arms crossed, watching her.

"Alright," she decided. "But then I'm coming right back here."

"I wouldn't think you'd do anything else. In fact, if no new cases come in, I'll help you out. See if a new perspective changes anything."


	10. Chapter 9

A/N: Sorry, Sassy, I'm not done putting Sara through the emotional wringer. Soon, though. Only onechapter left after this one.

Chapter 9

The silence of the apartment was smothering her. She had worked the last four days, and when she had mentioned coming in on this, her night off, Grissom had refused. She needed a break, he had insisted. She had reluctantly agreed, saving him from having to pull out the 'I'm your supervisor' card. So here she was restlessly moving around her apartment, trying to run away from the thoughts in her head but finding nowhere to go.

The only bright spot tonight was a phone call from Brass, telling her that the footprint and DNA both matched Wes O' Shannon, and he had officially been booked for assault and battery. The evidence, combined with a signed statement from Debra, should be enough to lock him up for a long time. She hoped so. It was what he deserved.

The temptation to hit another person, she understood. She had been close, more then once, to unleashing her anger in the form of a fist. Never had she actually gone through with it. To hit a person over and over again, she refused to understand. You were supposed to protect those more vulnerable then yourself, not beat them into submission. How can you tell a person

that you loved them, and then punctuate the sentiment with a fist? And when the fists started coming, why wouldn't you leave?

Her mother never left. Eighteen years she was married, a union that only ended with stab wounds. Sara couldn't attest to the early years, but never was there a time in her memory when yelling and hitting wasn't a normal part of the family dynamic. Why did her mother stay? Why did she leave her children in that situation? And what changed? What made her reach for the

knife, that last time?

She needed answers. Like a genie from a bottle, the questions had been released and they wouldn't go away. Her father was six feet underground, and even if he wasn't he would never give her what she wanted. There was only one person who might be able to help her.

Picking up the phone, Sara called the Vegas airport to inquire about any flights leaving tonight for California. There was one in an hour and a half. While she waited for her taxi she stuffed clothing and toiletries into a duffle bag. When the horn sounded she clumsily hurried out of the apartment on her crutches, locking the door behind her.

Grissom unlocked the front door as silently as possible, hoping that Sara had been able to fall asleep while he was gone. The only light turned on was a lamp on the desk, so he took it as a good sign. Slipping off his shoes to leave beside the door, and hanging his jacket on one of the dining room chairs, he made his way to the bedroom. It was empty. So was the bathroom. The entire apartment was empty. Reaching for his cell phone, he dialed the two digit code that would connect him to Sara's cell.

"You've reached the phone of Sara Sidle. Please leave a message."

"Sara, it's me. Please call me when you get this. I love you." Searching the vacated rooms for clues, he found missing items from the closet and the bathroom.

Where ever she had gone, she obviously meant to be gone for more then a couple of hours. In desperation, he picked up the phone and hit the redial button.

"Las Vegas Airport, how may I direct your call?" Without answering, he set the phone back into its cradle. Damn.

She rented a car at the airport, grateful that it was her left foot encumbered with a cast and not her right. She was not in the mood for a taxi ride, wanting her solitude. It was too early in the morning to go to the prison. Visiting hours wouldn't begin for hours yet. Sara didn't care,

though. If anything, she was relieved. The urge that had pushed her out of her apartment and onto a plane had subsided some. There were still questions she needed answered, but she was glad of the excuse to put them off a little while longer.

Just like when she was younger and growing up in Tamales Bay, Sara found comfort in visiting the ocean. The beach was empty in the hour before dawn. The moon had already set, and only the light of the stars reflecting on the ocean waves lit her way. She took off her shoes, leaving them on the hood of her rental car, and walked towards the tide. Dry, cold sand crept up

between her toes. As she walked to the water's edge, waves gently lapped over her feet and around her ankles. She stood still as the wave rushed out, taking the sand beneath her feet with it and causing her to sink inches into the wet sand. When she was little she thought that if she stood still long enough she would end of completely buried. There were times she had tried it, standing in one place for hours, hoping to disappear.

Walking farther along the beach, she turned to look over her shoulder. Each footprint she left behind was immediately erased, leaving no proof of her existence on this deserted stretch of land.

The criminalist in her thought about what an easy target she made right now. No witnesses, easy scene to clean up, and not a single person knew where she was. The more philosophical side of Sara saw allegory in the lack of footprints. Tamales Bay, Harvard, San Francisco... had she really left an imprint in any of the places she lived? If something happened to her right now would anyone even notice?

That wasn't fair, really. She knew there were people who would search for her. Nick, Warrick, Brass, Greg. Maybe even Catherine. Maggie would be upset. And then there was Grissom. Even now, Grissom was probably dialing and redialing her cell, trying to get a hold of her. For the first time she began to question her sudden flight.

Sara sat in her rental car in the parking lot of the prison for almost an hour before working up the courage to walk into the building. Now she was waiting again, this time on a hard plastic chair. Waiting to see her mother for the first time in almost twenty years, waiting for answers.

When they brought her in, Sara didn't recognize her. Her hair, once the same rich brunette color as her own locks, was now mostly gray. Her face was lined with deep wrinkles. There was a look in her eye that Sara saw too often as she worked. A guarded, shut down look that said the person was not living, but just existing. The years had not been kind to Laura Sidle. Sara waited until she was seated across the table from her to speak.

"Hello..." mom? No, she couldn't call her that, so she refrained from addressing her at all.

"Sara. You look... good." Her voice was lower and huskier then Sara remembered. The mother from her childhood had spoken in a soft voice, barely more then a whisper.

"You look..." tired, old.

"I know." She seemed to read Sara's mind without her having to speak.

"So, are you on vacation, or did you finally leave Sin City?"

"No, I'm just here for a couple of days. I still live in Vegas." She wrote her mother once a year, more out of a sense of duty then anything else. Told her the bare bones of her life, but didn't mention the specifics.

"It's been a while." Eighteen years, to be exact. When Sara had been in foster care, the monthly visits had been court ordered. For five years, she spent the third Saturday of the month in hand me down dresses making awkward conversation with her only remaining parent. The first two visits, Ben had come with her, but then he had run away again. This time, it was for good. She hadn't seen him since. The week before she left for Harvard she had made one final visit, and that had been it. She cut off that part of her life, forever. Or so she had thought. Sara took a deep breath. Small talk was over, she decided.

"I'm not here on vacation. I came here to see you, because there are some questions I need answers to." Laura's face brightened for an instant when Sara started talking, but the expression quickly faded, a look of resignation taking its place.

"You want to know why I killed your father, I suppose."

Sara shook her head. That was one thing in her twisted family history that she almost understood. "Why did you stay with him as long as you did? Why didn't you leave when he started hitting you? And why the hell didn't you leave when he started hurting your children?" She could feel her temper rising, the last question spoken loud enough that the other occupants of the room were looking at them.

"I tried, once." Laura wouldn't look up, continued to stare at her hands as she spoke.

It wasn't an answer Sara was expecting, and she stared at the woman across from her in shock. "When?"

"You weren't born yet, but I knew that I was pregnant. He hit me in the stomach, and I was afraid I would lose you. That night, he went out to the bar with some buddies, and I packed a bag for Benny and I, and caught the bus. We only made it to the next town before he found us."

"He beat you for leaving." Sara stated without emotion. She knew it, without asking. It was a story she had heard a dozen times before. She had seen those women, bruises on their arms and legs, lies coming out of their mouths. Had gone home every time and cried for them, knowing that she couldn't help them unless they asked. They rarely did.

"I never tried again. Next time, it might not have been a beating. He might have killed me. I couldn't risk it." She spoke as if it was a given fact, and that saddened Sara more than anything. She hadn't expected to pity her mother. The anger that had simmered under the surface for so many years whenever she thought of her parents hadn't left room for any other emotion.

A part of her still wanted to argue. Really, she just wanted to believe that if she was in the same situation, she would have made different choices. That wasn't something her mother could tell her, though. Right or wrong, Laura Sidle had already made her decisions, and was living with them.

Sara managed a few minutes of small talk before making an excuse to leave. She wished her mother well, and meant it. She said goodbye, and meant that too. She wouldn't be back.

Driving out of town, she almost took the freeway exit that would take her back to the airport. Her ticket wasn't until tomorrow, but she could try to change it. As she was signaling to change lanes a mileage sign caught her eye and changed her intended route. Written in white against a green background, the sign denoted the distance to three nearby towns. The last name on the list was Tamales Bay. Sara turned of her blinker and continued forward. There was one more demon to fight today.

The cemetery was at the edge of town, on a gently sloped hill that overlooked the ocean. It should have been a peaceful place, and maybe for other people it was. To her, it had all the appeal of a minefield. As cautiously as if that was what it was, Sara made her way through the graves until she reached the one she wanted. A flat brass marker, imprinted with his name and two dates, was all that claimed this place as his. Her father's grave.

James Sidle, 1945-1984.

Sara stared down at it for a long time. She didn't touch the marker, refused to stand too close to it. It was like the discussion she had just days ago with Maggie about cooties and little boys. She had teased the little girl about boys outgrowing cooties. Now, she felt like maybe Maggie was right. She had that same desire to avoid touching her father's grave, afraid of catching some horrible imaginary thing. Afraid of being contaminated by whatever made him the way he was.

"Bastard." The insult was out before she realized it had been waiting there, at the tip of her tongue. It was not the only one. "You son of a bitch. Asshole. Prick. Sack of shit. Mother Fu..."

One by one, she threw out every defamation she could think of. With the type of people she came in contact every night, it was quite a list. With the tip of her left crutch she hit the ground, sending a spray of weeds and loose dirt in the direction of the grave marker. One of the larger clumps landed on the brass, obscuring most of the writing. Sara stared at it for a moment, wondering at the irony of the perfect placement. Finally she turned, and left the cemetery without cleaning away the dirt.

It looked almost exactly the same. She drove down her old street, stopping the car in front of the Bed and Breakfast that had been her childhood home. The two story building was still painted yellow, the shutters and trim white. Bright flowers lined the sidewalk, inviting passerby's to stop for a moment and admire the postcard perfect view.

Inside, it was nothing like she remembered. Where once there was antique furniture and flowered wallpaper, now the walls were painted a pale cream color and the furniture was whitewashed French colonial. Instead of the elderly woman who had presided over the registration desk when she was growing up, a young man of twenty three or four greeted her.

"Welcome to Seaside Bed and Breakfast. Can I help you?"

Sara wasn't sure how to respond. She had walked in more out of habit then anything, not thinking past those first steps. "Uh, do you have any available rooms?" she found herself asking.

"Would you like a single or a double?" He was smiling at her, that same fake smile she had perfected when she had worked here for her parents. The same smile she had given teachers and social workers when they had questioned her about her bruises, her mother's injuries, her brother running away.

"It doesn't matter. Do you have any rooms facing the ocean?" Her bedroom had been on the third floor, facing the street. Her parents had saved the better rooms for paying guests.

"Your in luck. We have one room with a double bed on the west side."

"I'll take it." A swipe of her credit card and she was once again a resident of 3481 Cresting Road, albeit a temporary one. Sara retrieved her bag from the car, and then walked up the carpeted staircase to her room.

The room was done in pale blue tones, pulling the ocean view into the room. It had a balcony, a feature that had been added by the new owners. Sara pulled the rocking chair in front of the double doors so she could see the crashing of the waves. She didn't rock, just sat perfectly still in the chair. She didn't notice when the first tear started down her cheek, or the second. Soon, though, they were coming fast as the tears became sobs and she released them in a way she hadn't ever been able to do while living under this roof.

It was dark outside when she awoke. For a moment she forgot where she was, and wondered why her eyes were so sore, why she was sleeping in a chair and not a bed. Only for a moment, though, and then it all came back. The flight, the visit, the tears. She was alone in the room, and she didn't want to be alone anymore. Without a second thought, Sara picked her cell

phone up from the bedside table and opened it up. The last five calls on the display were all from Grissom, and she highlighted the first one, pressing the send button.

"Grissom."

She took in the sound of his voice, letting it echo in her heart for a moment before opening her mouth to speak. "Gil." The single syllable came out weaker then she meant it to. Her voice was still horse from the crying and thick with the last remnants of sleep.

"Sara, thank God." It was a prayer from a man who didn't pray and under other circumstances Sara might have laughed and teased him about it. Instead, she just accepted the relief in his voice and was thankful.

"Griss, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to... I just need to... I need..."

"What do you need?" He hoped that whatever she answered was a request he had the power to grant. Or was willing to grant. If she asked him to leave her alone, he wasn't sure he could comply. It had been just over thirty hours since he had seen her, and he felt like he was going through withdrawals.

"You. I need you." She needed him like she needed air. More so, maybe. From the depth of her soul, she needed him.

"I'm on my way."

"Wait." She almost shouted, afraid he would hang up. "Talk to me a little longer."

He readily complied, telling her of the case he had worked the night before. A robbery in a casino that was being used to film a reality TV show. By the time he figured out who did it, the show's producers were offering the man a job. Sara laughed softly. Grissom kept talking until her only response was the soft sounds of breathing, and then he closed his phone.

She was surprised to hear a knock on the door two hours after she hung up the phone. Grissom was the only person who knew where she was, and even if he left right after they had talked it would still be hours before he would be here. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she rolled off of the bed and hobbles across the room. Cautiously she opened the door, jaw dropping in shock when she saw that it was indeed Grissom standing in the hallway.

"How?"

"I was already on my way here. Brass ran a search found your airline reservation. I wasn't sure if you'd..."

Sara silenced whatever he was about to say with a searing kiss. It was hungry and more then a little desperate, as she tried to communicate without words how she felt. Still silent, she pulled him into the room. When she finally released him there was a smile on her face, the first since she left Vegas.

"Thank you."

Sara slept a solid eight hours, safely ensconced in Grissom's arms. He was still asleep when she finally awoke to sunlight streaming through the windows. Careful not to disturb him, she slipped out of the bed and walked towards the French doors leading out to the balcony. The ocean was a bright blue, highlighted by the warm sun shining on the water. Sara took a deep breath, enjoying the tang of salt that filled her nose.

Grissom moved so silently, she didn't know he was behind her until his arms snaked from behind, encircling her waist. He rested his chin against her shoulder. They stood like that for a long time, neither one wanting to break the spell of the peaceful moment. Eventually, Sara turned her head towards his, and placed a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

"You ready to take me home?"


	11. Chapter 10

A/N: Thank you to everyone who read my story, and especially those who sent me such awesome, supportive reviews. This story had a mind of its own, ending up in entirely a different place then I thought it would.

Chapter 10

"I still say you could have let me pick my own workshops," Sara repeated for the third time that day.

"I had to let them know right away. You were in the garage, dismantling a car looking for evidence. I didn't want to disturb you," Grissom rationalized.

"Five minutes, Griss. You could have interrupted me for five minutes."

"Sorry."

"You just wanted the opportunity to sign me up for all the entomology classes." Grissom gave her an innocent 'who me?' look. Sara didn't buy it. "If I have to spend the whole time watching slides of blow flies and carpet beetles feeding on dead bodies, there will be retribution."

They were seated side by side on a plane, headed east to Florida. There was a four day forensic seminar, and Grissom had announced a week ago that the two of them were going. When Sara had protested his high handed approach, telling her instead of asking if she wanted to go, Grissom had convinced her with the idea of walks on the beach and nights that would be completely free. Just the two of them, no work, no cell phones. She listened thoughtfully, but didn't accept his apology until he shut the office door and pressed his lips against hers.

"Think of it as a mini vacation. I want a little time with you, away from here." She couldn't argue with that.

It had been four weeks since their return from California, and life was slowly getting back to normal. Or whatever normal could be considered for two people who spent their nights with criminals and victims, and whose conversations featured blood, bugs, and motive. She had told him, during the long drive back to Vegas, all the details of her trip. The quest for answers that had lead to her hasty departure, the draining meeting with her mother, the cathartic feeling of finally telling her father how she felt about him, the strange dream like quality of returning to her old home and finding it changed. She left out nothing, not even the intensity of her desire to hear his voice that morning when she woke up. It wasn't a weakness to need him, and she understood that now.

"I have a confession to make." They had landed at the airport and claimed the rental car that Grissom had reserved. Their drive down the highway had been filled with observations about the scenery around them, the warm weather, and the unusualness of being awake during the early afternoon hours. During a lag in the conversation, Grissom decided that it was now time to come clean.

"Please tell me I was wrong about the entomology workshops, Griss. I was really hoping at least to go to the one on blood splatter analysis." She wasn't really worried. There was nothing in his voice or body language that said his confession was too serious.

"About that... I didn't sign us up for the seminar." He reached into the seat behind him, pulling an envelope out of his briefcase and handing it to her. Sara gave him a puzzled look, but accepted his offering. Her curiosity only increased when she opened it up.

"Gil, these are passes to Disney World."

"There are tickets to Epcot in there too."

"What? Why?"

"A couple of months ago we were talking about a case, and you mentioned that you had never gone to a theme park as a kid. I thought it was time to remedy that fact, and what better place to go then the 'happiest place on earth?'" He dared a quick glance in her direction, and was alarmed to see tears forming in her eyes.

"We don't have to go. I'm sure I can still get us into the forensic

seminar. I just thought..." He stopped talking when he felt her lips brush

against his cheek. She would have given him a more proper thank you, but

thought it would be safer to wait until he wasn't driving.

"Sometimes, Gil Grissom, you can be the sweetest man."

Sara was unpacking her suitcase when there was a knock on the door. Grissom had gone down the hallway to find the ice machine, and she assumed that he had forgotten to take his keycard with him.

"Grissom, you can be such a typical absentminded professor sometimes." She muttered to herself. "I hope there wasn't a body in the ice machine this time."

It wasn't Grissom at the door, but an equally familiar face. A four foot tall ball of energy that threw herself at Sara, hugging her waist.

"Maggie! What are you doing here?"

"Me an' mom are in that room, right there," she said, pointing to a door two rooms away from the spot they stood in. "Mr. Grissom gived us plane tickets, but he said it was a secret, and I couldn't tell you. I did good, huh? Didn't tell you, not even when I really, really wanted to."

"You did very good, Maggie Mae. I didn't have a clue." She rubbed her hand over her sternum, feeling the heart underneath speed up at the though of Grissom making all these arrangements, for her.

"I told you I could keep a secret, Mr. Grissom." Maggie turned to her side, and Sara realized that Grissom was standing in the hallway, watching her intently. He took a few steps towards her, and Sara met him halfway. She reached behind him, clasping her hands around his neck and covering his lips with her own. She kept it light, mindful of Maggie's presence. Before the released him she tipped her head to the side so that her mouth was inches from his ear.

"Remind me to give you a proper thank you, when we don't have an audience." Straightening up and turning away from him, she once again faced Maggie. "What do you say we go find your mom, so we can go meet Mickey Mouse?"

It took all of Grissom's will power to shove Sara's promise in the back of his mind. Gratitude was not what he had done any of this for, but he sure wasn't going to turn it down.

"Did you know that the sun heats the grease on the track of Thunder Mountain, causing the roller coaster to actually go faster in the afternoon then the morning?" he asked Sara as he hurried to catch up to her.

"Why am I not surprised that you know that?" Sara rolled her eyes, but she also reached out and took Grissom's hand in her own.

"That was awesome," Sara exclaimed. "We have to do that again."

They had just exited the Indiana Jones ride, and Sara decided it was her favorite so far. Favorite of the fast rides, at least. They had gone on the Jungle Cruise right before this ride, and she had found the experience. She couldn't decide what was funnier; the 'guides' comical speeches, or Grissom's half-serious rebuttals about 'real scientific facts.' _ These species do not all cohabitant. There is no tribe native to the African jungle that keeps their enemy's heads like that._

Grissom was pleased that his surprise was going over so well. They had spent the afternoon wandering the park with Maggie and Debra, until it was decided that the little girl was in need of sleep. Despite her protests, Maggie was taken back to the hotel, leaving Sara and Grissom alone. They were walking past the Adventureland gift shop when Sara suddenly

stopped, tugging on Grissom's hand and pulling him into the store. He assumed that she wanted a souvenir for herself or Maggie, or perhaps one of their friends back in Vegas. Instead, she headed towards a display of Indiana Jones style hats, sorting through them until she came across one that apparently satisfied her. Without warning she placed it on his head and nodded.

"Perfect."

Grissom looked in the mirror, and couldn't help thinking that the broad brimmed leather hat did suit him in some strange way.

"You look like you could be Dr. Jones, if he studied weird insects instead of obscure relics. You already have the whole 'fighting bad guys' part taken care of." Sara joked.

Grissom laughed and removed the hat. He was about to place it back on the pile with the others when Sara took it from him and headed for the cash register.

"I have plans for this hat," she informed him. Sara refused the offer of a bag for her purchase, placing the hat on her own head as they walked out of the store.

Grissom smiled at the picture she made, standing in the middle of a crowd, dressed in shorts and a tank top. The hat was too big for her, and it almost covered her eyes. Not enough that he couldn't see the twinkle there, matching her grin. It was, he realized, the happiest and most relaxed he had seen her since before the phone call from Maggie over a month ago. Grissom grabbed her waist and pulled her to him. He kissed her, not caring that they were in the middle of a walkway or that there were hundreds of witnesses around. Grissom ran his tongue along her lower lip to seek permission to deepen the kiss. Sara granted his request, leaning into him

with abandonment. When they finally separated, it was because of the banging noise overhead. It seemed like a sign when they both raised their heads and found the sky above them ablaze with a cacophony of fireworks.

The End

"He who controls the past commands the future. He who commands the future conquers the past." -_George Orwell_

A/N 2: I know that the characters in this story are fictional. In fact, they are fictional characters taken from a tv show, which makes them even more removed from reality. Still I feel this driving need to apologize to them for all the torture I put them through. Thus, a trip to Disney World. In LoA it was San Diego. Who knows where I'll send them next. (I don't need therapy. Really.)


End file.
